Thanks for the Cannon
by P.A.W.07
Summary: Another injury, another growl and slap to the head from Ratchet ... except this time his fingers lingered longer and his optics dimmed a little more then usual. It was now or never. IronhidexRatchet. Movieverse. One-shot.


Thanks for the Cannon summary: Another injury, and another growl and slap to the head from Ratchet ... except this time his fingers linger longer and his optics dimmed a little more than usual. It was now or never. IronhidexRatchet. One-shot.

Rating: Older Teen, Adult themes

Note: Set in 2007 Movieverse. When they finally have a base set up.

Disclaimer: If only, if only, the plot bunny sings.

XXX

Ironhide hated many things in this new home. He hated it when he got a nail stuck in his treads and had to limp all the way home until Will picked it out. Of course, that was four hours later when the family finally got home! Then there was rush hour; he was this close to taking the form of a monster truck and just running all the other vehicles down like raccoons in the road, screams would suffice for the usual squishy noise raccoons made. There was also … ugh … McDonalds. There was the salty stickiness that smeared all over his door hands and steering wheel; then there was that smell of oil, oil, and more oil. He wasn't even going to go into the ketchup ordeal, because he knew he was never ever going to watch Sam for a day again! Yet, all those seemed like small details at the moment, because the last thing he hated was the ground … at least when Starscream had plummeted him into it, that is.

Ironhide growled as he blocked the seeker's next punch by grabbing the other's fist in his palm, feeling the metal scream in protest. "That was low even for you, Starscream! Dropping from the sky just to use me as a cushion. Well, I hope you bruised your aft!"

"Oh, what's wrong you big sparkling. You going to go cry to Optimus Prime?" hissed Starscream as the two of them struggled for dominance, throwing up roots and clods of dirt as the mechs rolled in the dirt like two teenager cheerleaders, from opposing teams, having a catfight.

A grunt escaped the black mech as he slammed his head upwards, hearing a very reassuring sound of crunching glass as the figure holding him from behind. Soon, there was a dance of metal as Starscream jumped off the other, clutching his face and leaving little shards of his optics behind, which danced in the sunlight like a red plague. The Decepticon growled as a smirk formed on Ironhide's face and he rose to his feet, keeping a low defensive posture.

"Oh, poor little Starscream. This won't hurt too long," mocked the Weapons Specialist.

"You'll pay for that Autobot," slurred the Decepticon as he dragged out his claws, away from his energon smeared face and into a fist, and into an attacking stance. With a war cry worthy his name, the seeker started to run towards the other, ready to crush out an optic of his own. Luckily, Ironhide had just pulled out his arm cannon. The weapon started to hum with a mystic tune, ready to go all out in the throttles of battle, too bad it wasn't fully charged because Starscream was ready to land a punch to his optics, blinding him. So, instead of using his cannon to shoot, Ironhide improvise and use it as a fist instead.

CRRRunnnnnch!

…

"You think he'll notice?"

Bumblebee cocked his head to the side as if observing the thing in question and tried to not break down into a hysterical fit of laughter, choking 'You've been served'. So, instead, the smaller mech went towards the self-preservation answer.

"Umm … no," Ironhide sighed at the response, but the younger mech wasn't done talking yet, "if you change your name to Shockwave. I'll get the purple paint while you gorge out one optic with this spork Sam left in my cubbyhoe."

The yellow scout handed the spork to the Weapons Specialist and Ironhide looked from the spork to Bumblebee, from the spork to Bumblebee. A scream from an eighty's horror movie soon escaped the Camaro's speakers and, with a laugh, he was racing down the halls of their new base, Ironhide following close behind.

"I'm going to skin you and feed your blood to Starscream as he starves to deactivation in that cell!" came a roar from the older mech as he slid down the halls in his bipedal form, "And then, when he's done feeding on you, I'm going to gorge your optics out with this spork! You hear me!"

The smaller bot merely slid around the corner and came to a stop, leaning on the metallic wall with one hand. The little bot then continued to stand there against the wall, lifting up one hand and pretending to look at his non-existent nails, seeing if they needed a manicure. The larger bot turned the corner at that moment and was about to tackle the smaller being when an opposing door opened with a whoosh, a voice rafting out. "Do you need something, Bumblebee, because if you're not dying come back later. Patching up Starscream got energon all over the med bay floor."

"No," said the yellow mech as he continued to look at his 'nails', throwing Ironhide a mocking look before fully answering the medic. "Just, you know, hanging out. It's not as if my cannon won't retract or something like that."

There was a moment of silence from the medic. " … Alright Bee. You haven't seen Ironhide anywhere, have you? I wanted to make double sure he didn't get any injuries from this tussle."

If Bumblebee had a mouth to smile with, he'd be doing so. He merely gave the Weapons Specialist a look and Ironhide found his com link open before he'd known what he'd done, hissing, '_Don't. You. Dare.'_

'_And why shouldn't I? You know Ratchet's going to have a fit five ways to Sunday once he finds out you've been wandering round the base with a crushed cannon, which won't even retract back into its compartment by the way. Besides, I thought you liked being in Ratchet's company?_'

Ironhide growled softly at the bot whom was smirking in the light of the open med bay doors. _' … What the Primus does five ways to Sunday even mean_?'

The mocking attitude of the yellow youngling stopped, and he stood there dumbstruck for a moment. _'Ummm … I don't know. Epps said it once_.'

Ironhide rolled his optics. Bumblebee was becoming too engrossed with this human society too easily. Next thing he'd know, the youngling would be dressing in bling and talking like Sam's odd friend Miles. Saying things like bitchin and dude. The older Autobot shook his head. He didn't even want to imagine that. '_Whatever kid … I'm going to see if I can fix this … or at least make it not look so bad._'

The black mech's engine revved in a depressed tune as he ran his good hand over his still showing cannon. It looked so pathetic bent out at its mouth, completely incapable of being retracted into its usual hiding spot. Who knew if it even worked? The Weapons Specialist ran his hand over his cannon as if trying to sooth a child. He quickly regretted this action, of course, when there was a clang of metal falling to the floor. Ironhide's engine stalled as he looked from his cannon to the bolts on the metallic tiling, back to his arm where the parts were suppose to be. "Slang it all!"

"Bumblebee, watch your mouth," came a quick snap out of the med bay. "We don't need the humans picking up anymore cuss words then they already know. You do realize that Will is still having a meltdown over the Annabelle incident."

Bumblebee shook his head madly. He wasn't going to be blamed for this! It wasn't like he was the one who taught Annabelle to say slang, rust bucket, and Primus every time an Autobot turned his back to her instead of giving her their full attention.

"It wasn't you?" Ratchet's fingers grabbed onto the rim of the doorway as he stuck his head out to glare properly at the little yellow Autobot standing outside the med bay. If the little Autobot said it was a ghost he was going to throw a ratchet at the youngling's head. Sam was still afraid to go into the storage room because of Bumblebee's little ghost prank.

Ironhide swallowed. No sudden movements, and he might not be noticed. He had to fix this at least a little bit. Now don't get him wrong, it wasn't that he was afraid of Ratchet or anything. He just hated seeing that mad expression on his facial plates. That expression didn't belong on his face. The Weapons Specialist took a silent step backwards; hand still gently lying on his cannon. Just two more steps till the corner, just two more steps till the corner, just two more step –

Cling … cling … cling.

Ironhide looked down with horror as another screw fell to the floor, bouncing a few times before it became still. A growl filled the halls and Ironhide didn't have to look up to know what had just happened. Plus, he hated seeing that face so enrooted with anger. It wasn't real rage, but it still didn't belong there.

…

"Thanks Ratch'."

Ratchet merely growled as he watched Ironhide transform his cannon, and then allow it back into its chamber. Ironhide smirked softly to himself just looking at his arm until his eyes caught sight of Ratchet readying himself to walk away. A small part of Ironhide stalled, and he found his engine sighing. There were only four of them on this planet and now he had the chance. Unlike the crowed Ark, he knew no one would be interrupting. "Don't go just yet. Will yah? I gotta tell you somethin'."

Ratchet pulled his medical tools back into their usual compartment, and he found himself looking the other in the optic, ready to growl a complaint, but the moment he met Ironhide's gaze he was stilled in mid-sentence. It wasn't the usual hard glare nor the overused 'yah, yah whatever Hatchet' look. This look was something new, and it scared him slightly with its hunger, but he wasn't going to let Ironhide know that. "Yes?"

There was a soft thud as the Weapons Specialist's feet found the floor and before the medic's confused processor could even react he found one of Ironhide's large hands on his chest plate, feeling every seam and crack in his chassis. The CMO was about to protest about having his personal bubble violated, when a quick yet gentle pressure was placed into that hand and the medic found himself stumbling backwards. There was a soft scraping noise as his back met the wall. A growl would have escaped him if he had the time, but a squeak escaped first as that hand pushed harder so he collapsed against the wall completely for support. It was then that Ironhide's fingers grew a little more daring, dipping between the seams in order to taunt the sensitive circuits underneath.

"What the slag –

A black finger was pressed gently against his lips, and the CMO went ridged as he felt Ironhide's chest press against his. What was going on here? Were the mech's processors damaged? What-what …

Ironhide pulled in a little closer, feeling his spark panic with the knowledge of what he was about to do, doing for that matter. He had been waiting for the right time for what felt like a millennia. He wasn't sure when his spark had started to act this way or what had caused it. For Primus sake this was Ratchet the Hatchet, the meanest and grumpiest medic this side of the universe. If you came into his med-bay not injured, you would leave injured, usually in the form of a dent. Maybe this feeling happened because of the way Ratchet would run his fingers gently over a patient's uplinks, in the back of their neck, in order to calm them down. Or perhaps it was the personal way the medic would rub a finger around the rim of Ironhide's cannon once he was done repairing it. Little things that the medic did on instinct and probably had never noticed doing. It had taken a few millennia, but Ironhide had started to catch on, and he had also noticed that Ratchet's fingers had started to linger on his cannons longer and longer. There were also the times the medic would go so far as to call Ironhide in for a system check when it wasn't even necessary, so Ironhide knew now was the time to react above all others. Ratchet's fingers were twitching as they ran over his cannon today, lingering longer than ever before as if he was saying he was lonely. His medic was not going to be lonely anymore nor was he going to be allowed to have that anger expression on his face.

The Weapon Specialist ran his thumb across the other's metallic lip, and then slowly dragged his thumb down so it traced the bottom of the now quivering lip. Ratchet was practically frozen … in fear or anticipation Ironhide didn't know, but he wasn't going to leave without finishing this. The black mech leaned in closer, gaining a tremble from the CMO, yet he kept leaning in until his metallic lips were right next to Ratchet's audios.

"I didn't mean to worry you, Ratchet … I hate seeing that angry face of yours."

Ironhide then pulled away from the audio and dragged his head lazily until his face was right next to the others, cupping the yellow-green mech's chin and raising it.

"Let me wash that angry look off your facial plates."

Ratchet felt his spark ache and slam against his chest plate as Ironhide's metallic lips rubbed against his softly, begging the other's to open. At the same time, Ironhide's spark nearly faded in depression as felt the medic tighten, probably considering if he should draw away. Yet, with Primus' blessing, he found Ratchet's mouth opening so Ironhide's glossa had full access. A rev of accomplishment came from the Weapon Specialist's engine, and slowly, one of his knees started to snake its way between Ratchet's legs, spreading them until the medic gasped and pulled out of the kiss panting, little sparks jump over his body for a sparse moment. There was so much going on he wasn't sure what to do, but hanging onto Ironhide's shoulders for dear life seemed like a good idea. And why was his spark practically trying to claw its way out of his casing?

A small laugh escaped the black mech as he took his metallic cheek and rubbed it against Ratchet's cheek, showing affection.

"I like this look on you much better," said Ironhide, "and I hope you'll allow me to see it again. That little lazy grin is wonderful … and thanks for the cannon."

Ratchet slowly found himself sliding down the wall even though Ironhide had left more than a few minutes ago. He sat there against his support, his optics staring aimlessly at the ceiling. His engine seemed to be overheating and his spark was cursing at him from inside its chamber. Had he accidentally damaged his spark chamber in battle and now the aftereffects were rearing their ugly heads? It all had to have been a delusion … it was just … so … so … the medic's intake fans seemed to gasp. He was overheating … he must have imagined the whole Ironhide thing. There was no way the other mech looked at him that –

A hand suddenly planted itself on his shoulder and Ratchet found himself practically clawing into Optimus's arm as he struggled with his overheating body.

"Op-optimus, I s-seem to be o-overheating," stammered the medic. "I-I must have been d-damaged in that last battle. P-please open some of the vents in the room so I can intake some c-cool air."

Optimus stared at him for a moment, glad he had his facemask on as he slowly stood up doing as the medic asked. He listened as Ratchet's fans gulped in the cool air for a moment and tried not to grin … about time.

XXX

Paw07: LOL. Get the joke in the title? See, I've noticed that it's starting to become a cannon pairing for movie verse Ironhide and Ratchet thus equals the title that has a double meaning joke. Anyway, hope everyone found it cute … nope, no real smut. I find the motto 'Loves comes softly' more my thing anyway.

Also, I'm considering continuing this since people liked it so much. If I do, it will probably be only, like, five chapters. Short but sweet.


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